The chain wrenched, doubling me over. Bile rose in my gut. I clamped my lips shut, but I gagged anyway. Turning to the side, I retched. Heraphia rubbed soothing circles on my back.
“What’s wrong?” she pressed once I finished.
“It’s ripping me apart from the inside,” I choked out, hand flattening over my well of magic. “Our connection is punishing me.”
My best friend frowned. “Are you sure you want to continue on then? That you can?”
I clenched my teeth and used the tree to shove myself upright. “I’m not going back. I can handle this. I’ve survived worse.”
Nothing more than pushing yourself for the lead role in Dark Swan.
Dragging in a deep breath, I wrapped ivory around me and formed my wings again. Half walking, half flying, I trudged on. Heraphia trotted beside me, peering into the night.
“Can’t see shit out here,” I groused, attitude souring from the sheer volume of agony attacking me. “Sure would be nice if the Goddess would offer us a break sometime. Instead we’re always at a disadvantage on the run.”
“Aye,” Heraphia replied, pulling back a thicket of rainforest plants for me to pass.
“Where do you think Zuriel is?” I asked her over my shoulder. From what she’d told me, he’d been sent directly to the front a day after their arrival. The Korona had allowed them one kiss goodbye before the Sightkeepers dragged her into the Divine Atrium and Ithuriel stood by and watched his nephew—in bronze shackles—be led away by a Padisa.
“He reached the front just yesterday,” a velvety, masculine voice replied.
I froze. Heraphia’s lips parted in a silent choke.
The bond purred, smug and satisfied, as if it alone had dragged me back to my rightful master.
Like I was facing my execution, I turned.
And standing in a strand of pale moonlight was the Issaraeth.
I expected him to be furious. For rage to turn molten in his eyes.
Instead, his expression was smooth as a glassy lake. Save for his jaw, clenched tight. Those glacial irises roamed over me, then drifted to Heraphia. I sidestepped in front of her, hand snapping up like I could possibly protect her from him.
“No one knows you two are missing. Yet.” The way he said it, his tone even and cool, raised the hairs on my arms. “I suggest we return before one of the Sightkeepers sounds the alarm.”
Why isn’t he mad?
That terrible, tightly controlled calm, frightened me more than his anger ever had.
“We’re not going back,” I spat.
He lifted a scarred, iron-gray brow. “Here I thought the two of you believed in peace. Instead, you fly off to war? I’m shocked at how quickly you’ve changed, Sylaira.”
“Perhaps I should give you two a moment,” Heraphia said, backing away, like she’d accepted that we were caught and our return to Thalvireth was inevitable.
“If you would,” the Issaraeth sighed, his focus still trained on me. “Don’t think about running though, Heraphia. If one of you goes missing, we’re all doomed.”
My best friend let out a frustrated huff. “I’m not leaving Sylaira behind.”
“Good,” was all my mate replied.
A rustle told me she’d retreated. My nails bit into my palms as the Issaraeth stepped closer. “Do not touch me.”
“I only ever want to touch you, little fugitive,” he murmured darkly. “I should not have said what I did. I was angry.”
I didn’t reply, that acute agony returning and stealing my breath.
“Sylaira.”
